Clay Messages
by LaaDee
Summary: She'd always been told Art was forever. Two-shot
1. Lost Time

**Clay Messages**

**Disclaimer: **I own no rights to either Inuyasha or Rurouni Kenshin, nor are the characters from my own imagination, but I thought I'd try them out for a bit.

The clay whirled and spun, small globs of murky water occasionally shot out and splattered on a dusty dirty blue haori. Kagome's deft hands held and guided the wayward clay, helping it form and take shape as her foot vigorously pedaled the spinning contraption. Her mind was blank; she refused to think as she focused on forcing her clay into reverence. Despite her resolve, her mind would still occasionally wander to her friends in one time, her family in another, and her in another still, before she shook her head to clear it of her wayward thoughts.

With a long-suffering sigh Kagome stopped pedaling, removing her muddy hands and absentmindedly ran them through her hair, caking her black hair with streaks of brown gray clay. The piece before her was small, ordinary, and slightly off balance. The small pot was nothing spectacular or memorable, and wasn't near as breathtaking as that of her master's average caliber. She let the pot remain attached to the spinning wooden disc, to give it time to dry and stood up from her small stool to stretch.

"You done for the day?" questioned a voice husky from sleep and sake over towards her right. His professional name was Ni'itsu Kakunoshin, but he preferred it when Kagome called him Master Hiko when not in the presence of others. Her master was gruff, intimidating, nursing a drinking problem, and was a smidge egotistical, but Kagome wouldn't have him any other way.

"Not yet," admitted Kagome as she sent the lounging man a smile, "I'm waiting for the rice to finish cooking so that I can make some rice balls before I leave." The man scowled at Kagome's cheer, but he knew better then to comment or else she would take her mouthwatering food home with her and refuse to cook for him for at least a week. Hiko liked when Kagome made his dinner, usually it was the only food that he got all day.

Hiko was still a little mystified on how he had obtained another student after swearing them off once one became the Battousai. Somehow this girl had broken down his resolve and manipulated him to teach her the finer details of his craft. Kagome was a good kid though, and Hiko had to admit that since she arrived in his small clearing blazing with determination and spirit he had something to look forward to each day. Well that and the free food.

"Whatcha gonna do with a little pot like that?" asked Hiko as he leaned over her work with a critical eye.

"Probably sell it ridiculously overpriced to the rich art _collectors _in the area," answered Kagome cheekily as she retreated to a small cooking fire off to the side of the pottery wheel and kiln. Hiko clucked his tongue in approval, she was his student and if she couldn't scam with the best of them she wouldn't be considered as such.

Kagome had been determined to leave her mark on the world through ceramics ever since he had taken her under his wing. Truthfully he didn't understand where her passion came from; although, he figured it came from the petite girl's family. He had asked about them once in passing after finding out she lived on her own in a small one room shack on the poor side of town. He had wondered aloud about the whereabouts of her family and the younger girl had clammed up and refused to mention anything about them. He figured that maybe her passion stemmed from her need to be recognized by either them or at the very least _someone_.

That night they sat in silence eating rice balls. Kagome had her eyes trained on the stars above, hope in her eyes, while Hiko gulped down sake straight from the jug, misery in his.

* * *

Dry and cracked but steady fingers held the sliver of sharpened wood steady as it carved delicate kanji on to the bottom of an upturned vase. Kagome lightly blew away the curled clay pieces that had been whittled away as she wrote. _'Lost Time'_ was scrawled in a neat row, a message for the future.

On each vase she made she wrote the same message, '_Lost Time, Souta Higurashi.' _Her secret hope was that one day her family would read her message and it would alleviate their worries. She worked diligently on each piece, hoping that it would be good enough to be remembered and sturdy enough to survive for the next hundred and so many odd years.

Art was her one saving grace. Art survived thousands of years, art survived wars, and art changed lives. These clay creations would deliver her message, a message that gave Kagome hope and allowed her to get up each day to continue her work. She worked not to make money, or to gain esteem, she worked to dream, to dream of her small family in the future.

She turned the vase upright and placed it inside the kiln to be fired. She looked around and watched as Master Hiko sat on a fallen log by the cooking fire, sipping from his saucer of sake. She smiled fondly and watched him from afar. She knew very little of her master other then he was a well-recognized local potter. She had wondered on his mountain side home on pure impulse.

She had at first planned to travel around Japan after the Bone Eater's Well had spat her out in this time 5 years ago and refused to let her back through. She had only gotten as far as the suburbs of Kyoto after leaving Edo when she heard ghost stories of a young hermit living in the mountains. She heard he had many skills, and she had been curious enough to wander up the mountainside path to see if the rumors were true.

* * *

Kagome looked around the clearing, with unveiled curiosity. There was a hut on one side of clearing, shadowed by the giant boughs of the deciduous trees of the mountain forest. In the middle of the clearing was a ceramic kiln protected from the elements by a thatched roof. A fire roared inside the kiln, Kagome could feel the heat from where she stood on the mountain path, over 20 feet away. The trunk of a thick tree rested in front of the kiln served as a bench for the user of the kiln to relax as they waited for the moment they would need to stoke the fire. Leaning on the log was a man surrounded by empty jugs of sake.

"Oh," whispered Kagome in surprise before raising her voice, "hello?"

The man sprawled on the ground in front of the kiln, didn't budge. Kagome worriedly made her way towards the man, who wasn't stirring, even when Kagome did nothing to hide her presence. Kagome hoped the man didn't have alcohol poisoning, or worse had drunk himself to death.

"Sir, are you alright?" whispered Kagome, afraid to raise her voice any higher. She walked around the trunk, stepping around the empty jugs that were set up like a mine field before she kneeled down beside the downed man. Kagome took a moment to observe who could only be the hermit of the mountain. The man had only a few wrinkles along the edges of his eyes and the corners of his mouth. His long black hair was tied at the nape of his neck by a scrape of blue cloth. A tall red collared white cloak was thrown haphazardly over him, much like a blanket even though his long appendages stubbornly stuck out of their covering. Kagome couldn't fight the smile that fought its way onto her lips as she watched the man sleeping so sloppily, it reminded her of how Shippo would sleep with his limbs casted about while his mouth hung open, a little bit of drool seeping down the corner of his mouth. Kagome's observations were cut short, however, by the man snoring loudly, waking himself up with a start.

"Who are you?" growled the man, his voice raspy from drowsiness and alcohol. Kagome didn't move from the spot where she was kneeled, not at all intimidated by the bulky, muscular man. She watched as the man sat up with the speed of an old man suffering from aches, pains, and groaning joints.

"I'm Kagome," she answered with an optimistic smile, making sure to keep her voice low so it wouldn't grate his throbbing head, "I heard of a hermit living on this mountain, and thought I'd investigate."

"What?" moaned the drunk as he pressed a hand against his eyes to block out the sun lights cheery rays.

"Kagome came up mountain," began Kagome slowly using her hands to better illustrate the scene of her walking up the mountain, "found you here, you woke up."

"Alright whatever... what do ya want?" snarled the man not appreciating Kagome's story or her waving arms. Kagome didn't answer right away as she watched the man pull himself on top of the log, leaving the high, red collared cloak resting in the dirt.

"What's this kiln for?" Kagome asked instead as she stood up and moved to sit on the log next to him. While she waited for an answer, Kagome straightened out the wrinkles that had developed in her cream colored kimono, plucking out the occasional stick or leaf that had been lodged in the layers of silk.

"It's for pots," said the man at last with a sigh, moving his hands away from his eyes to rub his temples soothing away his headache, "occasionally vases and figurines."

"You're a potter?" questioned Kagome with a wide smile, "an artist?" The man didn't answer as he reached down to grab his cloak from the ground, and rested it across his knees.

"One more question," bargained Kagome, her mind buzzing as she looked towards the blazing kiln, seeing the pots and vases inside, "how long does pottery last?"

"What do I care?" grumbled the man, "I make this crap to sell, overpriced of course, to those rich snobs who call themselves art collectors." Kagome smiled and turned to the hermit, a plan already forming. "Aren't you going to leave? I answered your question, what more could you want with this lowly drunken hermit?"

Kagome didn't answer as she turned away from man, her thoughts whirling about looking at her slowly forming ambition from every angle, listing the pros and cons. When she reached a conclusion a grin spread over her lips having decided she _had _to become a potter, to leave her mark for all to see. For the first time in a long time, hope sparked inside her, making her eyes gleam like a raging inferno.

* * *

After that day, Kagome would often make sporadic visits to the mountain clearing, demanding to be taken in as his apprentice. By the 106th visit in the 13th month Hiko Seijuro broke, and finally took on the girl as his apprentice. He taught the girl everything he knew about pottery and watched as she grew and developed the skill. He observed her as she carved the same message in each piece she spun. '_Lost Time' _its meaning had Hiko baffled he never knew Kagome was sending a message to her family who at one point had been lost to her forever. _'I'm here, don't lose hope, I'm trying to get home.' _Was left unsaid each time she turned her piece around, sharpened wooden sliver in hand, dreaming of home.

"I'm here…" Kagome whispered as she set her latest piece in the kiln to be fired, hoping with each piece the message would be delivered. Just as a message in a bottle eventually finds its way to shore Kagome looked forward to the day her creations would weather the passage of time, and make its way home.

* * *

**A/N: So I've had most of this done a few months ago, but I totally forgot about it until a little while ago. So I finished it, though I'm certain it didn't turn out anything like I had first planned. I hope you all liked it!**


	2. I'm Here

**Chapter 2: I'm Here**

**Disclaimer:**

**Disclaimer: **I own no rights to either Inuyasha or Rurouni Kenshin, nor are the characters from my own imagination, but I thought I'd try them out for a bit.

A hush settled around the room, the beeping of various machines was drowned out as the happy family welcomed their newest member. A young girl of almost six years old leaned over the baby, her soft black hair rained down her shoulder and her new baby brother happily clamped down on it. The girl giggled as she extracted the hair from her brother's tiny fist before she looked up at her mother beside her on the bed.

"What do we call him?" asked the young girl in a whisper as she watched a tender smile reach her mother's lips. Her mother looked over to her right, to look at her awed husband, who stood beside with a hand caressing her shoulder.

"What do you think we should call him, little one?" murmured the man in a rumbling timbre as he leaned down and kissed his wife on the cheek, pride and happiness shinned in his eyes as he took in the sight of his family.

"Kagome?" questioned his young daughter hopefully. Both her mother and father exchanged loving looks at their little daughter with amusement, but neither laughed at her suggestion.

"Honey, that's your name," whispered her mother with an encouraging smile. Kagome pouted with her arms crossed as she sat back down next to her mother on the hospital bed and leaned into the older woman's side. "Dear, how about we name him after that potter you've always liked? I believe he has our same last name…"

"Souta?" inquired her husband with a pensive frown; he leaned in towards his son and searched his chubby features, "what do you like my son? Would you like to be Souta Higurashi?" His son yawned and stretched slightly in his mother's gentle but firm grasp.

"I think he likes it Mama," whispered the young girl in delight as she watched her brother's reaction.

"Yes, I believe he does," agreed her mother with another tender smile as she looked up at her husband lovingly, "it's a lovely name, I'm sure he'll do it proud."

* * *

Souta was excited. He walked to school with a skip in his step knowing that today his class was going to the Museum, and he could hardly wait. He would admit that it was a little disappointing that while there he would have to work on his history project by selecting an artist featured in the Museum, but it was a small price to pay Souta thought, for getting out of class. Besides Kagome had come home the night before from the Feudal Era, and where Kagome went Inuyasha was sure to follow a few days later. He couldn't wait to see his older sister when he got home, and possibly his hero too.

Souta was patient as they lined up in the lobby for the last bit of instructions from their teacher. Once the teacher released them the children swarmed and surged past her towards the main section of the Museum, ready to explore and discover. Souta followed after the crowd with a more sedate pace.

He had been wandering the halls and various portions of the Museum with his friends when he stumbled upon a room lined with showcase boxes made of transparent Plexiglass. Souta looked around the abandoned room before making his way in. He always knew that he had been named after some famous potter that his dad had always loved, but he had never seen any of the famous potter's pieces, maybe there'd be some here?

The pieces in the room varied in size and design, some were bigger then he was tall while others couldn't be bigger than a small coin. As he looked into each case he scanned the name of each pieces creator (knew a name at all) before he finally spotted the name _Higurashi_. There was three pieces in the showcase created by one _Souta Higurashi_, one was a small lopsided pot and from the description beside the piece it had been one of his earliest pieces, and so was rather rudimentary. The next piece however was a masterpiece that appeared to have been created by a completely different hand, it was large, smooth and decorated by swirls of fading turquoise paint, his favorite color, the tag beside it declared it as one of the last pieces the potter had ever made in the long fifteen years that he had been active. But the third piece, the one probed up in between the two pieces was of a different nature.

The last piece could have been the bottom of a pot, vase, or any number of things, but it had long since been worn and broken down until only the circular disk of the bottom remained scratched with the potter's signature. Souta had to squint to read the dilapidated kanji on the white piece of clay. _'Lost Time, Souta Higurashi'_ he read in wonder. He didn't understand what it could mean, and he didn't spend much time to think about it either, after all he was only eight years old, what did he care? He did read the small white description in front of it; maybe it would tell him what it meant? The only thing that the tag could tell him however was that this signature was on _every _piece one Souta Higurashi had ever made, including a few small tea set archeologist had found and an urn he had once been commissioned to create.

"Souta, come on! It's time to leave," called one of his friends from the room's entrance. Souta nodded his acceptance and raced over to his friend, never sparing the magnificent potter's work a second glance, before they took off back to the Museum's lobby.

Souta ended up doing his project on a potter named Ni'itsu Kakunoshin, there was much more information on the Samurai turned potter then there ever would be on his mysterious apprentice.

* * *

Years later while he was helping clean out one of the shrine's warehouses he happened upon a collection of pots and vases. He had just moved the last old box of a large tower of similar boxes, all of which had been filled with assorted materials, when he spotted the dusty pieces. He gently laid the box out of the way before he approached the pieces.

Souta kneeled down before a large vase, a beautiful design spreading across its white clay canvas. He wondered what such eloquent pieces were doing in an old warehouse on a shrine when they seemed fit for the shelves of a Museum or possibly the Louvre in France. Armed with a dirty rag Souta carefully extorted the dust from its place of honor, clinging to the vase. The paint was vibrant and despite the yellowing and cracking of the white glaze that revealed its age, it appeared to have been painted only a few years ago. Once the vase was cleansed he went about the same meticulous procedure with the five other works.

Of the six vases and pots they all appeared in good condition, all except one that had been shattered from the abuse of the years. With reverent fingers Souta picked up the scattered pieces and gathered them into a pile. Dismayed at the pieces demise he lifted the small disk of clay, careful to avoid the sharp pieces of the broken pot that clung to it, this piece he knew had made up the base of the work. He held the disk up into the light and turned its weathered clay around in his large hand. His fingers traced the thin lines carved into the base that in the dim light he could not read.

Curiosity gripped him and with deliberate steps walked towards the sunny exit of the warehouse. He held the disk loosely to his chest as he stumbled around the maze of boxes and ancient objects until he reached the double doors and into the fresh air. It took a few seconds to let his eyes adjust to the new light streaming over his face before he assessed the piece in his hand. The lines scratched into its bottom surface made up a web of kanji that took him a while to make out. _'Lost Time, Souta Higurashi'_ he read silently to himself.

The obscure message of a potter sent the boy's mind reeling. It brought up memories of his big sister, of her shinning brown eyes, wavy black hair, and the cheery smile she wore whenever she saw him. The scored kanji stung him more than the time he'd been hit in the face by a flying soccer ball and with it brought a starch reminder his family was excruciatingly bare, without his time traveling sister. He knew that Kagome was happy, on the other side of the well with her friends, but the knowledge did nothing to seal the gaping hole in his heart only she could fill.

Souta gave a heartbreaking sigh before he collapsed on the steps leading up to warehouse he was suppose to be organizing. He held the disk in his hands before him as he rested his arms on his bent knees, the kanji glaring back at him. It was here that his mother found the young fifteen year old, morosely staring at a broken piece of pottery.

* * *

On Souta's twenty-third birthday he returned to the shrine for the first time in months. He's life now a day's was made up of his own spacious apartment, a great job, and a gorgeous fiancé; there was little reason for him to return to his childhood home, except for occasions such as this. After a small family dinner with his mother, fiancé and ancient Grandpa he excused himself from the room. He rarely thought of his lost sister, but tonight a strong sense of nostalgia had struck him and he needed a breath of fresh air.

Souta looked up into the night sky, searching it for the stars Kagome had always gushed about; only to see dim specks peaking through clouds of smog and waves of light pollution. He hung his head and absently stared at his clasped hands as he sat hunched over the bench. The wind tousled the leaves that clung to the boughs above him, and as it made a swipe at the young man sitting dejectedly by himself it played with the fringes of his black hair.

He glanced up as he heard the crunching of gravel, and a hesitant step behind him. A frown developed between his eyebrows as he assessed the shadow the person behind him cast on the Goshinboku. Tentatively Souta began to turn around, normally he could tell which of his acquaintances was behind him simply by their shadow or the sound of their steps, but the shadow before him was foreign and the steps unfamiliar. He had barely started to turn around when the hesitant pattering of feet behind him quickened, and dry slender fingers covered his eyes.

"Happy birthday," whispered the woman behind him. Souta paused and bit his lip, the woman's voice was low but he would remember the timbre even if he had never heard the sound again.

"Kagome…" Souta gasped as he reached his larger hands up to engulf her smaller ones. One of her dry, diminutive hands slipped out of his, Souta clung to the one remaining over his eyes. He started upon feeling a weight drop into his lap as Kagome leaned over his shoulder and the feel of her other hand leave the safety of his hands as she retracted it from his face. He was reassured when a low rustling of cloth alerted him that she had only moved to sit beside him.

"Well, aren't you going to open it?" asked Kagome as Souta turned to drink in her appearance, his eyes took in every altered detail and replacing the picture of his teenage sister with the delicate woman beside him. Souta gaped but nodded before looking into his lap and finding a slight object warped in a burlap cloth.

Souta looked askance towards her; her only answer was a tender smile and an approving nod. With shaking hands and blurry eyes he tugged on the twine that held the cloth in place before carefully unwrapping his present. What was once shrouded by the cloth revealed itself to be a small pot, topped with a knobby lid, painted the brightest red and depicting only a single black silhouette of a playfully bowing dog, with its triangular ears perked and its tail curled. Souta looked up at his sister in wonder as his fingers glided across his present's smooth surface stroking the silhouette of the dog. Kagome gave her brother a proud smile as she simply turned the beautiful pot around to show him the white disk of the unglazed underbelly.

"I'm here Souta Higurashi," Souta read aloud before a smile bloomed upon his face because it all made sense.

* * *

**A/N: I couldn't resist, it struck me in a rare mood of inspiration, I couldn't very well ignore it. I hope you like the newest installation, but don't expect another because I think this rounds out the story rather nicely.**


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